


The End

by Sandylee007



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Drama, Friendship, Gen, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-28
Updated: 2016-03-28
Packaged: 2018-05-29 17:25:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6385564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sandylee007/pseuds/Sandylee007
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>PREVIOUSLY POSTED BY ME IN A COLLECTION ON Fanfiction.net                  TAKES PLACE DIRECTLY AFTER THE FALL             Sherlock could've never imagined just what kind of an impact his fall would have. How were the hours following the faked tragedy to John and Greg? Stumbling back towards Baker Street, once again all alone, John ends up to a painful memory lane.           ONESHOT</p>
            </blockquote>





	The End

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Scenes Left Out](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/185728) by Sandylee007. 



> Okay... Now remember that Sherlock didn't really die, yeah? Too bad John (especially John), Greg and Mrs. Hudson didn't know it for two years. (sighs)
> 
> DISCLAIMER: Yeeeeeeeeeah... It'd be INSANELY cool, I'll give you that. But sadly my home, my kitty and a somewhat functioning internet connection are all I can afford...
> 
> WARNINGS: sadness ahoy, some language... WOAH, that's a short list!
> 
> Okay... Here we go! Just to warn you, everybody's hurting. And it shows. I still REALLY hope that you'll enjoy the ride!

DI Gregory Lestrade had never actually been to a war. But he felt like he'd just arrived to see the end of one when he lay his eyes on the man who had fallen to the pavement next to a rapidly drying pool of blood. It actually took him three seconds to convince himself that the man sitting ten steps away, eyes glazed over and his stiff form unnaturally straight, was even breathing at all. To remember that this battle only claimed one casualty.

Didn't it?

Once he saw a young woman in green scrubs with neatly tied brown hair and exhausted eyes of the same color he made his way to her. "How is he?" His voice was colored by sadness and guilt he didn't even try to conceal. All he wanted was this nightmare to end.

The doctor sighed heavily, glancing towards the figure still slumped to the ground. "He hit his head after colliding with a bike. He seems to feel dizzy and disoriented but I doubt he'd have a concussion. Physically he's doing alright."

Greg nodded tensely, his eyes stinging for a brief moment. He didn't need her to say what she thought of the grieving former soldier's mental state. "Has he moved at all since…?" He couldn't bring himself to voice it. It would've felt too real. Too soon. Wrong.

All of this was bloody wrong.

The woman's shake of a head wasn't a surprise. "I wasn't even able to persuade him inside for a proper check-up." There was a great deal of sympathy in her eyes when they swept the hunched figure's way. "It's like he's still waiting."

Greg nodded, hoping that it was enough of a thank you because there was no way he would've been able to to produce actual words without the emotional turmoil taking over completely. He steeled himself for a mighty while before beginning to approach. Dreading what kind of a response he'd receive.

Dr. John Watson tensed up completely upon hearing his steps. He'd never seen the kind of a look in those eyes that took over as soon as they spotted him. The doctor swallowed loudly, his blood stained hands trembling violently. "I'm… I can't give you a testimony. Not now."

Guilt twisted in Greg's abdomen like a ball of thorns. "I know." Grief seeped into his tone along with regret. He could only hope that John was able to hear them, that the man understood. "I didn't come here for that, John."

John's eyes hardened. The warmth they usually possessed vanished entirely. "I can't give you what you need." So suddenly that the man almost fell right back down the doctor was up but found his footing on his own, struggling stubbornly to remain in control over himself. And in a blink the smaller man was limping away.

Greg swallowed thickly, not managing to look over his shoulder when John passed him by. He was too much of a coward to face what he'd find. "He… He was my friend, too."

The limping steps halted violently. It took several frosty seconds before even colder words came. "No, he wasn't. Not with how easily you were swayed to doubt him. Not with how you still doubt." There was a prolonged, heavy pause. "He cared about you far more than you could ever imagine, Lestrade. You would've seen that if you'd bothered to look and observe." With that the doctor was walking away once more, a light year of distance already between them. "Don't worry. I'll come and give my testimony tomorrow. Just… Just do me a favor. Make sure that Donovan or Anderson won't be the one taking it."

By the time Greg finally managed to turn around, a hellish searing sensation having taken over his eyes, John was already gone. Instead he found Sally Donovan who stood a small distance away, staring at the pool of blood with slightly wide eyes. Sherlock's blood. Was she shivering? "Is… this our fault?" Her voice was barely audible. Still it cut deeper than a knife.

Greg gritted his teeth so hard that it hurt. Fighting a losing battle against the thunderstorm bellowing inside. "Take care of this mess", he spat. "Interrogate anyone who may have seen something. Try to find out what the hell happened here." With those words he was walking away as well. Desperate to leave behind the scene that'd haunt him until the end of his days. "I need some air."

Sally didn't question him. Greg was glad. There was no telling what he would've said.

It wasn't until Greg was in his car, all alone, he finally dared to unleash what he'd felt coming since the news first found him. He buried his face into his hands, his whole body and soul trembling. In less than seconds he broke down into quiet, wrenching sobs of remorse and sadness.

 

/

 

John's legs weighed a ton each while he made his way through the streets of London, feeling like he'd been in some kind of a sick, never ending nightmare. People gave him strange looks, some whispered to each other, but he paid no attention to them. For him the entire world had come to an end.

At some point he could've sworn that he spotted a fancy black car tailing him. He ignored it pointedly. There was no way he'd be accepting anything from Mycroft Holmes today, least of all acts of charity and regret. Rage flickered in his veins.

Sherlock, Greg, Mycroft… Why were they all expecting him to understand? How much did they imagine him to be able to take? All he wanted was to wake up from this or to be left alone.

He was used to being alone, used to facing everything all by himself.

/ "Alone protects me." /

John quickened his steps, even with the risk that it nearly swept him off his feet with how badly he was trembling.

Memories flashed through his head in a unstoppable stream. Like his life had been flashing by his eyes. He'd imagined that something like that only happens to dying people.

Perhaps, in a way, he in fact was dying.

/ "You machine!" /

Throwing up right after the next street corner, unable to spew out the poison coursing through his system, John almost wished he was dying.

John had absolutely no idea how he made it home. It was already dark outside by the time he dragged himself up the stairs to discover that 221B's door was slightly ajar. He blinked once with surprise before entering. He froze at what he found.

Mrs. Hudson and Molly Hooper were there, clearly having been waiting for him. Sitting on the couch, their eyes red and puffy from crying, still wiping away some tears. Sadness hung thickly in the air.

It took a few seconds, during which John considered escaping only to find that his feet wouldn't work for him anymore. Then Mrs. Hudson noticed him. In an instant she was up and on her way to him, a fresh set of tears rimming her eyes. Somehow she appeared years older than she did when he last saw her only hours ago. "Oh, dear, look at you…! You're shivering." Her arms were already spread. "Come here."

John most definitely would've if he could've. But as it was he couldn't even twitch, wasn't able to make a sound. Fortunately Mrs. Hudson seemed to understand.

Before he even realized properly what was happening she'd folded him into a tight, nearly desperate embrace, pulled him close to her frame that was already shuddering with sobs. After several moments John returned her hold, trying to provide the grieving woman at least a tiny bit of comfort. Attempting to fix what was beyond repair.

That was how they remained for the longest time, Mrs. Hudson crying her heart out and John holding her. Unsure if he wanted the cold numbness that'd taken over all of him to end or if he wanted it to cocoon him forever.

/ "I don't have friends. I've just got one." /

/ "Goodbye, John." /

John wasn't aware of the silent tears trickling down his cheeks in the semi-dark.

 

/

 

End of oneshot

**Author's Note:**

> GOSH! Poor, poor John. Poor everyone! If only Sherlock realized how much people care about him... Thank gosh he made it back home eventually!
> 
> So... Go on! Good? Bad? Lukewarm? Let me know! I'd love to hear from you guys. And kudos-markings are ALWAYS loved.
> 
> Awkay, I've really gotta go now. Thank you so much for reading! Maybe I'll see ya again...?
> 
> Take care!


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